


Trial By Fire

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Thinker, The Feeler [1]
Category: Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Academy Era, Acting Casual, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Awkward Conversations, Bullying, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting to Know Each Other, Gossip, Hate Speech, Help, Honesty, Insults, Intervention, Investigations, Mentor/Protégé, Misunderstandings, Paranoia, Partnership, Pre-Earth Transformers, Protectiveness, Realization, Relationship Advice, Secrets, Self-Capable, Social Issues, Spying, Surveillance, Threats of Violence, Training, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heatwave's first rescue mission arrives before he has friends, before he has a team, even before he graduates the Rescue Academy. Needless to say, it catches him unprepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial By Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Enclosed in the story is a headcanon credited to delkios on tumblr. I suggest you read that story first but it's not severely mandatory. If you want to read the headcanon, go [here](http://delkios.tumblr.com/tagged/rescue-bots) and look for "Everything's Alright".
> 
> If you want the short version, it's that some Bots have been part of scientific experiments which dampen their emotions to make them "more objective", but it just makes it hard for them to understand abstract ideas like "fun" or "joy" or "hate". Some of these Bots develop anxiety problems, obsessiveness, perfectionism, etc.

“Doesn’t he _ever_ stop?”

Heatwave glanced over his shoulder at Kicksplitter, who had planted himself on top of one of the Academy rec room’s tables, arms folded rather petulantly. Heatwave followed his gaze to find Chase sitting across the room, seeming entirely engrossed in one of his data pads. It was the scene Heatwave had come to expect from him, even though he’d only agreed to ‘counsel’ him on relationships a short three diuns ago.

They weren’t doing much counseling in that time, Heatwave reminded himself with a touch of annoyance. Ever since the day when Heatwave had offered to help him fit in, Chase had kept his distance. Heatwave wished that _he_ wasn’t feeling guilty about that; it was Chase’s fault! Even though he’d said he was willing to accept the help, he still seemed more willing to turn to his manuals. That was how he’d been programmed… _re_ programmed, as it were.

Everyone knew about Chase and others like him. Why was Kicksplitter mentioning it as though it were odd? As far as Heatwave knew, Kicksplitter had never cared much for the other police apprentice.

“Sitting in the corner as though the police manuals are private news,” Kicksplitter continued, rolling his optics. “It’s the same every day. Either he’s too slow to have gotten through the manuals or he’s reading them over and over again. What’s the point?”

“I’ll _tell_ you what,” Kicksplitter’s partner, Crankwire, replied with a sneer. “He’s hopin’ to be top of the class! It’s his mission to beat you out.”

Heatwave resisted the urge to stiffen, but he did clasp his hands together underneath his own table. Before their conversation with his offer of help, Heatwave was having all the same thoughts. _He’s trying to show me up, undermine me, prove he’s better than me!_ These were ideas he’d harbored longer than he cared to admit. Hearing it now, from someone else, he felt convicted. That wasn’t a feeling Heatwave liked.

Rising to his feet and gathering up his energon and chrome-alloy pie, Heatwave made a point of moving in Kicksplitter and Crankwire’s line of sight as he approached Chase’s table.

“Hey,” Heatwave greeted, sitting across from him. Chase only looked up from his data pad briefly but it was enough. Even as the other mech returning to his reading, his EM field expanded to brush Heatwave’s, its cool, flat film rippling lightly.

That was Chase’s way of saying he was glad to see him, Heatwave realized in surprise. Satisfied, he made a start on his pie, watching Kicksplitter and his partner talking in his peripheral vision. They were still looking over here, Heatwave saw, frustration gnawing at him.

Swallowing his most recent bite, Heatwave leaned forward, announcing casually, “Better start talking.”

His charge looked up once more, green optics brightening in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Talk,” Heatwave spat, not as nicely.

Chase paused, considering. “Have you read the recently-added section on understanding serial deactivators?”

Heatwave’s mouth opened in a nanoklik of honest disbelief before he snapped it shut, grinding his jaw. “Chase, I’m trying to instigate a casual, easygoing conversation. You have to replicate me.”

At that Chase set his data pad on top of the stack by his right elbow. “But Heatwave, if I’m understanding your EM field correctly, you’re feeling neither casual nor easygoing. If I’m supposed to attempt replicating you—”

“Stop, alright? Just stop,” Heatwave pleaded. “You’re calling other Bots’ attention by sitting over here in the corner by yourself.”

Even as his helm tilted questioningly, Chase shifted his gaze to the table between them. “Then I have failed another test. By sitting over here in the corner, I meant to be unobserved.”

Was he saying hiding over here on his own was his way of trying to blend in? _What in the Allspark was done to this mech?_ Heatwave wondered as he leaned further in, muttering, “Well, if you were getting _good_ attention, that’d be one thing. Instead they’re over there gossiping about you.”

Chase looked contemplative. “Do they understand how I’ve been programmed?”

“Yeah,” Heatwave confirmed dryly. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

“Alright, as long as there isn’t any misunderstanding, they’re free to talk about it as they wish. Processing how I’m different may very well help them accept me, won’t it?”

Heatwave sputtered useless syllables for a few kliks before hissing, “You’re getting all of this backwards, Chase! Gossiping isn’t the same as processing!”

“How is it different?” Chase countered in sincere interest, stunning Heatwave into frustrated silence.

He had to be patient. Chase had told him he often found it difficult to understand abstract concepts, such as the emotions behind words, but Heatwave’s failure was in explaining himself.

“It’s like this,” the firemech-in-training finally burst out. “You remember how I thought you were trying to overshadow me in the classes we share?” At the affirmative nod, he continued, “That’s what they think. And they’re talking about that, not about you—who you really are.”

“Then I will go and explain myself,” Chase announced, standing. Heatwave was going to stop him, but it was then that a braam blast sounded long and loud, signaling that their refueling break was over.

 _Saved by the braam_ , Heatwave thought in relief as Chase decided against his stupid idea, gathering up his data pads and striding for the door. There was no way he would risk being late for the next class.

Even so, Heatwave was going to a different class from him now and the situation still had to be dealt with. After Chase had disappeared from sight, Heatwave hurried to catch up to Kicksplitter and Crankwire, who were walking in the same direction.

“Hey!” he called, causing them to pause. Moving to stand in front of them, Heatwave met both pairs of optics before stating calmly, “I overheard what you said about Chase. I wanted to let you know I understand—or at least I did.”

“Yeah? Yet we saw you goin’ over there to talk to him, though we don’t see the appeal,” Crankwire shot back with a shrug. “What’s it matter?”

Heatwave wasn’t sure if they noticed his hands clench loosely into fists before he relaxed them. “I just wanted to give you some advice: if you have something to say about Chase, if you have a problem with him, tell him directly. Nothing’s going to change otherwise.”

Kicksplitter’s expression was unreadable, but he nodded nonetheless. “It _is_ about time for a change, isn’t it?” he mused. “Thanks for the permission.”

As they sidestepped him, talking in pedal tones, Heatwave pivoted to watch them go, perplexed. What had they meant by ‘permission’? Permission to do what?

After his separate classes, Heatwave was still pondering this when he heard a sharp snap from around one of the hallway corners. Data pads fell and broke many times a day, so he thought nothing of it. He had a meeting with his mentor and as much as Heatwave would like to check on Chase again, that was a longer-standing commitment to which he wouldn’t be late.

He was surprised to find Inferno’s residence securely locked. Usually the firemech left it open for him, but since this wasn’t the case he knocked, answered by a red and white mech who cast a skittish glance over his shoulder as soon as he laid optics on Heatwave.

“Inferno, who is this?” he called sharply.

“Oh! Red, that’s Heatwave,” Inferno greeted without his usual bright smile, wiggling his fingers in something akin to a wave.

“You’re Red Alert?” Heatwave questioned, a little miffed but not too surprised when Inferno’s friend brushed past him and took off down the path Heatwave had come.

“Come on in,” Inferno urged, snagging Heatwave’s elbow and guiding him through the open entryway toward a narrower hallway, dimly lit. Heatwave glanced at him apprehensively, as Inferno had always gently insisted that he not start poking around in things down here.

At the end of the hall, they came to a room with seven computer screens lining the furthest wall from the door. Heatwave opened his mouth and Inferno answered his unasked question:

“Red uses this sometimes when he thinks his place isn’t safe. Wasn’t my idea, but s’not like I can really refuse him a safe place to go.”

Heatwave nodded wordlessly, standing a bit straighter when the chair in front of the monitors swiveled around to reveal a femme.

“You must be Heatwave,” she hailed him warmly, but there was some tightness around her optics that suggested she was troubled.

“This is Firestar,” Inferno explained, moving from Heatwave’s side to take the femme’s hands and pull her against him. “My partner.”

Heatwave smiled politely, nodding his respect with a hint of amusement. “In more ways than one?”

“He’s _sassy!_ ” Firestar exclaimed, elbowing Inferno. “Just like his mentor.”

“I can prove that later,” Inferno promised her, guiding her toward the door. “We need to talk.”

Firestar’s smile faltered slightly but she nodded, taking her leave of them and letting the door slide closed behind her. Heatwave watched an unusual change come over Inferno—his entire frame slumped slightly and his vents contracted as though he were unsure what he were about to say.

“What’s all this about?” Heatwave tried to prompt him. “Why are you showing me this room?”

“That’s not what I wanna show you,” Inferno told him reluctantly, gesturing for him to sit in the chair. Heatwave did so obediently and Inferno rested his arms on the back of the seat, starting, “Red’s paranoid—I’ve told you that before—but particularly when it comes to _me_ and people who start gettin’ to know me, so…he’s taken an interest in you.”

Heatwave went ramrod straight, sending an incredulous glance over his shoulder, but before he could consider what he might say about that invasion of privacy, Inferno sped on.

“He uses surveillance available to him—cameras in the Academy for security and such. He’s a good hacker, but while he was lookin’ up on you, he caught somethin’ else.”

Again Heatwave looked over his shoulder, more questioning than accusing. Inferno sighed, letting his arms slip off the chair as he came around it, rewinding something that had already been inserted into the main monitor.

Heatwave struggled to vent evenly as he appeared on one of the Academy hall’s cameras, stopping at his subspace near the corner. His mouth opened as he again heard the snap of a data pad falling and the camera caught it too, readjusting to see what had happened.

“You told me you’ve been tryin’ to help out a mech,” Inferno reminded him quietly. “Is that him?”

Heatwave nodded, optics fixed on Chase. “He doesn’t drop pads like that,” he said bluntly. “Not…usually…” The rest of his sentence trailed away as his surveilled self wandered off and Kicksplitter, along with Crankwire, took his place, rounding the corner. Kicksplitter’s voice, overly pleasant, filled the speakers.

“I see you got the little note we left. Was it polite enough for you?”

“Are you—trying to be sarcastic?”

Heatwave almost didn’t recognize the other voice: soft, with the barest hint of a tremor. Was that really Chase or were his audials malfunctioning? Even though they’d only known each other a short time by relational standards, Heatwave was sure that he’d _never_ heard Chase like this.

Kicksplitter’s laugh was uncharacteristically— _unnaturally_ —kind as he came fully around the wall, putting a hand on Chase’s right shoulder. “Not exactly sarcastic.”

“We weren’t sure how to get your attention,” Crankwire picked up where his partner left off, kicking at the pad on the floor so it slid against Chase’s foot. “But we got some advice that you need to be told things straightforwardly.”

Heatwave’s spark seized and he scooted further forward on the chair as though the scene were happening at this very instant and he could intervene. Inferno kindly said nothing about the movement.

“We know you’re probably just trying to get by,” Kicksplitter remarked, “trying to better yourself for the teachers…But Bots like us hear all about your kind.” He leaned closer to Chase’s audial, squeezing the shoulder he was holding and speaking in a hiss: “And we all know that _sparkless drones_ can’t amount to _anything_ , much less anything better than us.”

“You may as well stop trying, _automaton_ ,” Crankwire added, and though his back was to the camera, Heatwave could hear the sadistic smile in his voice.

“Stop!” he burst out, practically flying out of the chair with doubled fists. Inferno reacted well, pausing the video but not turning it off, lest they plunge the room into darkness.

Heatwave stood with his back to the monitor for a time he didn’t count, venting harshly, his processor racing with the appalling terms used on the footage: ‘sparkless’, ‘automaton’. He’d sworn to protect Chase from just those types of scenarios and he hadn’t even seen this one coming! He had instigated, even encouraged it; it was, though indirectly, _his fault_.

“Why are you showing me this, Inferno?” he demanded furiously without turning.

“Cos you needed to know.” Heatwave could feel Inferno’s EM field intersect with his, informing him that the older mech had come up behind him. “Back when I was in the Academy, I tried to help Red fit in, just like you’re doin’ with…”

“Chase,” Heatwave supplied, spitting the word as though it hurt.

“Chase,” Inferno repeated contemplatively. “Red was just like him—misunderstandin’ and misunderstood. It’s how they were programmed and it’s wrong either way, but unlike Chase, Red didn’t want my help. He disappeared. When I finally tracked him down, he was watchin’ somethin’ a lot like this—him bein’ the main attraction. He was watchin’ it over and over and over; he didn’t even notice that I’d come to…” Inferno laughed, regret clear in his vocals. “… _rescue_ him. I hadn’t taken it as seriously as I should’ve and that was when I realized it.”

Heatwave remained silent for another few minutes. When he did speak, his voice was very quiet and cold. “It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“If Chase is anything like Red—which we both know he is—he won’t quit,” Inferno commented. “And as great as that is, neither will they.”

Heatwave shuttered his optics with a decisive nod. “That’s all I needed to know.”

The next day, he couldn’t help but glance pointedly at the hallway camera, clearly letting Red Alert know of his discovery. The lens expanded unfalteringly, unashamedly, and Heatwave shrugged, leaning against his subspace compartment and waiting. Who cared if he was late to classes? For now, this was his mission.

The offending pair appeared not long later, strolling and laughing as though they hadn’t just yesterday been trying to damage another Bot’s _psyche_. Heatwave easily maneuvered himself between them and their route.

“How did talking to Chase go?” he asked with a grim smile.

“Just fine, though I think we’ll need several talks to go over our arrangement,” Kicksplitter replied, not missing a beat—except the most obvious. Crankwire glanced fleetingly between his accomplice and Heatwave before the expected question arrived:

“How did you know we—?”

That was all Heatwave was patient enough to hear. Seizing both of their throats, he steered them against the row of subspace storage, pinning them there and squeezing, digging his fingers into their throat cables.

“I _sympathized_ with you,” he snarled. “I told you I understood and I gave you advice and you go and use it like that?! You could have helped him. You could’ve accepted him, but no, you decided he was _inferior_ to you!”

“It’s not what you think—” Crankwire tried. Seamlessly Heatwave pulled him away from the storage only to slam him back into them, knocking the words out of him.

“I’d say it’s exactly what I think and you better fraggin’ watch yourself!” Leaning in, baring his teeth, he hissed, “Cos you’re playing with fire. I’ll gladly let the likes of you ruin _my_ reputation, but I won’t let you ruin his.”

“Heatwave?”

The tunnel vision his anger supplied him opened enough to hear Chase’s surprised word, as well as all the inaudible questions behind it. He didn’t risk turning to look, but he nodded toward the source of the voice.

“This is my partner. My real, living, _feeling_ partner. And if you ever imply that he’s anything less than that…well…” He stretched his EM field out, using it to claw at Kicksplitter’s. “I’m not sure you’d like to know what might happen to you and _your_ partner. Are you hearing me?”

At the vigorous nods he received, Heatwave ever so slowly released them, turning to face his charge. Chase blinked a few times, looking slightly taken aback, and then his face inexplicably changed.

The next thing Heatwave knew, he was ducking a data pad which struck Kicksplitter squarely in the helm, dropping him to the floor.

“I appreciate you standing up for me, Heatwave,” Chase told him, notes of something deeper than appreciation—of _gratitude_ —skimming the cool tones he was using.

Heatwave straightened rather gingerly, unsure if Chase would throw any other pads at Crankwire’s hastily retreating form. Fortunately Chase refrained, taken up with studying him intently.

“What?” Heatwave prompted.

“You…called me your partner,” Chase responded curiously. “Was that a mistake? I’ve seen anger as the cause of many mistakes.”

Heatwave huffed, shaking his helm. “You still have some things to learn about feelings, Chase.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“Because,” Heatwave continued as though he hadn’t heard, “what I felt when I said that, it wasn’t anger.”

“Then what was it?” Chase seemed fairly insistent that Heatwave tell him, but he shook his helm again and grinned.

“I look forward to you finding out,” he replied simply, mysteriously.

Chase pursed his lips, a sign that Heatwave gleefully understood as his accepting the challenge. “I look forward to it as well,” his colleague agreed at last. “With the help of our partnership.”


End file.
